


in love with the subject of sin

by MissELY



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Hermione Granger, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Manipulation, Naked Female Clothed Male, Older Man/Younger Woman, Power Dynamics, Ritual Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24814303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissELY/pseuds/MissELY
Summary: A surprise encounter in Hogwarts Library with Lucius Malfoy during her 5th Year sends Hermione Granger on an unexpected and Dark path.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy
Comments: 94
Kudos: 449
Collections: Budding Desires Spring Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Budding_Desires](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Budding_Desires) collection. 



> Prompt: 
> 
> "Lucius Malfoy stumbles across Fifth-year Hermione Granger reading Dark Texts. From little acorns grow great oaks, and he wants to encourage her journey into the dark. What is she up to...?
> 
> Due to his growing admiration, he saves her in the Department of Mysteries from Dolohov's curse and tells her to hide.
> 
> The sixth-year at Hogwarts is a heck of a difference..."
> 
> Title from "Where You Belong" by The Weeknd
> 
> As always my ask box is always open at [tumblr](misselylux.tumblr.com)  
> No beta, we die like men.

**October 1995, Hogwarts Library**

He was in the library by happenstance.

There had been a Board of Governors meeting that had been delayed. It was his first after that horrible Umbridge woman had reinstated him to the Board.

When he arrived, he was told that Dumbledore was running late. The old man had an issue with a herd of Centaurs threatening Hagrid; the oaf had done something or another to offend the creatures. 

Regardless of the reason, Lucius was left to roam the castle. Normally, he would seek out his son or Severus, but Draco had quidditch practice. Severus had informed Lucius—in his crisp, impatient tone—that his company was unwelcome, as he had a very precise and finicky potion he was in the middle of brewing. 

So instead, his path had taken him to the library. He regarded the soaring ceilings and overfill bookshelves with disinterest. He hadn’t spent all that much time there as a student, at least not to study. The Malfoy library had a much wider, unsanitized selection, but he enjoyed the aesthetics of the place nonetheless. The dark corners and the smell of old parchments brought back fond memories of illicit rendez-vous during his youth. 

He had wandered to an out of the way corner by the restricted section when he spotted her. 

Hermione Granger. 

He hadn’t given her much thought, apart from the routine disappointment when she inevitably bested his son in every class. He hadn’t interacted with her since their one run in at Flourish and Blotts before her Second Year. Though he had gotten a glimpse of her coming out of the Black Lake during the Second Task in the Triwizard Tournament. She had borne a striking resemblance to a wet lap dog then, all hair and bones. 

She was still all hair. From his angle, he could only see the top of her head. Her wild hair obscured her face, as she hunched over a huge tome, frantically scribbling notes on a nearby parchment. 

He made no effort to muffle his step or the sharp tap of his cane on the stone floor. She must have been completely unaware of her surroundings as her eyes stayed glued to her work.

He came to a halt in front of her and regarded her with open interest. The only sound in the silence of the library was the scratch of her quill. He thought for a second about just leaving. He really had nothing to say to the Mudblood girl. 

He turned to leave the girl to her studies when he got a look at the cover of the book she was reading. 

Lucius recognized it immediately. It was a text that the Dark Lord gave all his Death Eaters who showed an aptitude for the Dark Arts. 

It was  _ Darkest Arts; A Revival _ .

It wasn’t shocking that Potter’s best friend, Dumbledore’s showpiece Mudblood, was reading an advanced text. 

It was shocking because this specific book was exceptionally dangerous, even to open, if you had not already performed a number of introductory Dark rituals. 

It was shocking because Miss Ganger obviously had done those rituals, seeing as her eyes had not been burned out of her skull by reading the book.

Where on earth had the chit gotten the book? It couldn’t have been Hogwarts library, they had gotten rid of everything interesting years ago.

His curiosity overcame him.

“Miss Granger.” 

He knew how to intimidate, and he used it. His voice was pitched low, and he stood to his full, impressive height.

Her head shot up with a hunted look in her eyes. Appropriate, because in that moment he felt every bit the predator as he stalked closer to her. 

She was a pretty thing, he thought idly. Her unruly hair suited her, it made her look fetching and out of control. She had fine delicate features and a pouty mouth, her full bottom lip bore the indents of her teeth where she had bitten down in concentration.

He approached her with slow, measured steps, confident she had no avenue of escape, boxed in by shelves as she was. She stood up from the table and her hand went to where he thought she must have her wand, but she didn’t draw it.

Her mouth was set in a mulish frown but her eyes were round and he could see the fear in her eyes. Good, she had enough sense to know he was dangerous.

He stopped close enough so that she would have to crane her neck to look up at him or take a step back and concede him the ground. She did not concede. 

Interesting.

“Miss Granger,” he repeated, his tone smooth. He looked deliberately down at the book she had left on the desk, its cover clearly visible. He then looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “Doing a little extracurricular reading?”

Silence reigned while her eyes darted about, obviously looking for an exit, even though she was clearly trapped.

“Yes...sir.” She finally answered reluctantly, not meeting his eyes, but staring just past him.

“You didn’t find this book here.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, sir.” She was biting her lip again and he watched her tongue soothe the indents left by her teeth.

“Where did you get this book?” He tried to sound only mildly curious, though he wanted to rip the answer from her mind. She was smart enough not to look him in the eyes. He was a skilled Legilimens, and if she had met his gaze he would have been able to take the answer from her without much fanfare. Since she refused to meet his gaze, getting the information would require a vocalized spell and it would be louder, messier, and take more time than he currently had.

“I can’t say.” She jutted her chin forward, challenging him.

“You  _ can’t _ say?” He was amused at her stubbornness.

“No sir.” The abrupt shake of her head sent her curls flying.

“Is this a...sanctioned reading?”

MIss Granger’s brow furrowed and her eyes lingered on the cover of the book. It was fascinating, watching the calculation behind her cinnamon eyes. If this was something Dumbledore knew about, Lucius was going to bring it to the Board of Governors as evidence that Dumbledore was too dangerous to be Headmaster. If it was unsanctioned, then she had just handed him a prime piece of blackmail.

She shrugged noncommittally. Gazing back into the middle distance, just to the right of his head.

“What ritual did you complete to be able to read this book?” He tapped its dark leather cover with the head of his cane for emphasis.

There were only three rituals that would have allowed her access to the book. One was to bathe in the blood of a virgin; it would keep that person from aging for a number of years. The ritual didn’t require the murder of the virgin, but it did require a fair amount of blood, so it normally result in the death of the virgin, even if that wasn’t intended. That was what Narcissa and Bellatrix had chosen to do.

Another ritual involved carving runes into the skin. He had done that one, so had Severus and Regulus Black. It let them write, read, and speak in any language.

The third option was to kill a magical creature in ritual and absorb its power. The more powerful the creature, the more boost your magic would receive. It was the most complex of the three options, and only worked once. The Dark Lord was said to have sacrificed a dragon, though that was just a rumor. McNair had made the mistake of sacrificing a niffler. It had made no real difference to his magical power, and he remained a laughing stock even to this day.

Her eyes briefly caught his before flicking away, too quickly for him to slip into her mind. Her hand not holding on to her wand tightened into a white knuckled fist.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, it came staccato, betraying her nerves. 

“You really must learn to mask your emotions more if you are to continue down this path.” Lucius lifted his cane until the serpent’s head was under Miss Granger’s chin. He used the blunt metal tilt her head so that their eyes would meet.

A pleasant blush colored her cheeks. She was a comely young thing, despite the company she kept.

She stubbornly refused to meet his eyes, and stared instead at something beyond his head and said nothing.

“I do not like to repeat myself, little bird. Which ritual did you perform? What did you choose? Vanity, knowledge, or power?” Lucius added a threatening note to his voice, sliding the serpent’s head from under her chin to press against the hollow of her throat.

Her whiskey-colored eyes met his. The gold flecks in her irises caught his attention briefly, as he pushed wordlessly into her mind.

Only to be met with a wall of fog.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. She had a strong Occlumency shield. Shockingly strong, for someone of her age and, he assumed, no formal training.

“Well, little bird, you certainly are an interesting one, aren’t you?”

Her ragged inhale was the only sound for a minute until he heard the plod of approaching footsteps. He took a hasty step back and lowered his cane. Hermione quickly grabbed her book and held it to her chest so that the title was no longer visible.

They had righted themselves by the time a Prefect in Hufflepuff robes approached. The Prefect didn’t even notice Miss Granger as he relayed the message that the meeting of the Board of Governors was about to begin.

“Tell the Headmaster I will be there shortly,” Lucius said, eyes not leaving MIss Granger.The Prefect nodded and left quickly, obviously eager to be done with his errand.

“Well little bird. We are not done. You  _ will _ hear from me again.”

Lucius turned on his heel and left for his meeting. 

What an interesting development.

* * *

Hermione let out a shaky breath as soon as she was sure Lucius Malfoy was out of earshot. She collapsed back into her chair and placed the book back down on the table gently. She had not expected to be found here, and certainly not by Mr. Malfoy. She took out her wand, it was unsteady. Her hand was shaking from the adrenaline of their encounter. She put it down next to the book and placed both palms on the cool wood of the desk. 

Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her racing heart; it had been beating double time since Mr. Malfoy announced his presence. Her head throbbed from his attempt to break open her mind, and she brought both hands to her head to massage her temples.

Hermione had known that she shouldn’t have taken the book out of the privacy charmed seclusion of her bed. But she had needed space to take proper notes. And it had been a time when she knew no one was going to be in the library, since it was both a beautiful day and a Sunday morning. 

She also knew that unless one had already begun dabbling in the Dark Arts that the cover of the book looks innocuous.

She sank into the chair she had jumped out of when Mr. Malfoy had confronted her. Tears welled in her eyes, her normal response to stress. She cursed her sensitivity, and her ego, and her luck. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes to try to stop crying. It only sort of worked.

Closing her eyes and leaning back in the chair, she tried to focus on what to do next. She needed a plan. She tried to forget how good he smelled, or how something in her chest had twisted when his molten silver eyes met hers. She tried to forget how the cool metal of his cane handle felt against her throat. She tried to forget that his lower lip was fuller than his upper lip. She wondered if he would taste like sin, because that’s what he looked like.

She shook her head hard, an attempt to dislodge the unwelcome thoughts.

Foolish, she berated herself as she packed up her things and hurried back to the realice safety of Gryffindor Tower, foolish, complacent, and reckless.

But thinking of Mr. Malfoy led down another path too, one that made a cold sweat wash over her.

Would Mr. Malfoy tell Headmaster Dumbledore about the book? Would he try to use it as blackmail to get her to do something against Harry? Against the Order?

The Common Room was empty, so she avoided having to give any excuses as she raced up to the safety of her dorm.Throwing herself down on her four poster bed, she kicked off her shoes and yanked the curtains closed.

This year was not going as planned.

She had thought that being a Prefect would have given her something to do, some distraction from her growing isolation. 

But being a Prefect was not all it was cracked up to be. She was not respected as an authority figure; instead, most people ignored her, and some of them made fun of her. She had run into the Weasley twins doing an unflattering impression of her more than once in the Common Room. 

Her “close friends” weren’t doing much better. Harry was throwing tantrums left and right about not being told things, about being left out, or about just not getting his way. Hormones hit some harder than others. Ron was being his normal, oblivious self; in turns being cold towards her and then begging her for her homework. It didn’t help that her use of the Time-urner, or rather her abuse of the Time-urner, had aged her so that she was two years older than she should be. It wasn’t noticeable from her looks, but she felt it maturity-wise. She was 18 while most of her peers were 15 and she felt every day of those years.

So instead of ruminating on her loneliness, she had thrown herself into her studies.

Well, she had thrown herself into her  _ alternative _ studies.

It started when she was staying at 12 Grimmauld Place over the summer. Mrs. Weasley had assigned her to go through the books in the library, either ignorant or indifferent to the danger that lurked there. When she had first entered the room the Dark magic was so thick, that it left a bittersweet residue on her tongue, like burned sugar. Sirius had followed her into the room and had recoiled in distaste as soon as he felt it. She had done the opposite, and had taken another step into the room. 

At the time, she thought her curiosity was what had prevented the immediate disgust that Sirius had displayed.

In retrospect, she thought it was something else.

She had spent her first few days exploring the library at night. She got very little sleep those first few weeks; her days were occupied by cleaning the rest of the house to Mrs. Weasley’s specifications, and her nights dedicated to reading as much as she could, as quickly as possible. 

Knowing that the ban-brigade would soon reach the library, she had begun secreting out choice tomes to peruse at a later date. She had amassed about half of the collection of Dark magic books under her bed before Mrs. Weasley had begun her purge of the library. 

In her perusal, she had come across some books she was unable to open, and others she was unwilling to open. Those were the ones she kept. For all the others, she came up with a very Muggle solution. 

One day when Mrs. Weasley went out to the Burrow, she took the books she hadn’t already stashed away to the local library. Then she had photocopied them. 

If she wasn’t still uncertain if she was under the trace she would have just duplicated them by magic and taken the originals. But duplication spells only lasted so long, and she was not certain of how the trace was impacted by her Time-Turner use. 

There had been a moment when Hermione was afraid that the magic of the books might resist being photocopied. But her fear had been unfounded. 

So instead, she had walked out with hundreds upon hundreds of pages of books and a smug smile on her face. 

It had still pained her to watch the original books be disposed of later that week. With a pang, she thought of all the knowledge that could have been lost had she not taken the necessary steps. 

It was also interesting that some of the books Mrs. Weasley had seemed acceptable. Books on love potions and spells to bind the will of others remained, while books on the use of blood magic to make your garden flourish were thrown out.

She hadn’t gotten much sleep during the summer, instead choosing to spend more time reading and learning and discovering what power actually meant.

It had astonished and angered her, how Hogwarts was depriving them all of a robust education that explored every facet of what it meant to be magical. That instead, their classes were watered down versions of what was once taught in these hallowed halls. 

She sat up in her bed and spread out her notes and opened the book again, determined to finish the chapter that Mr. Malfoy had so rudely interrupted. 

Even as she made thorough notes, she couldn’t shake how his pale silver eyes seemed to cut into her, or how the cool metal head of his cane felt pressed under her chin against her throat. 

* * *

“The Granger girl, the Mudblood, what can you tell me about her?”

Lucius’s elegant hand was wrapped around a tumbler of his favorite brown liquor as he regarded Severus Snape with a steady and assessing gaze. 

“Annoying. Over-eager. No sense of self preservation or subtlety.” Snape bit out, taking a deep sip of liquor. 

It was a habit of theirs to regularly meet for drinks, a hold over from the last war. Their meetups had become more fraught with the return of the Dark Lord, but they still kept their rituals where they could. 

“Yes. I gathered as much. But what else?” Lucius kept his tone casual, but he knew that asking questions about the girl would raise suspicion. But he had limited resources in the castle, and Severus interacted with her regularly. 

Snape regarded him skeptically. “What do you want with the girl Lucius? She’s a Mudblood of little consequence. Bright, yes. But she’s one of Potter’s closest companions and has been under Dumbledore’s thumb for years. She’s unlikely to be swayed to join our side, and she’s probably too well protected to kill.”

Lucius hummed noncommittally. He was in a delicate position. He knew that he couldn’t fully trust Severus. No man who had played both sides for so long could hold true loyalty to either. 

But he could tell that Severus knew more than he let on. 

He decided to push a little further. 

“What do you know of the girl’s extracurricular activities?”

Severus’ eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.

“What do you mean? What have you heard?”

Lucius licked his lower lip, catching a drop of the brown liquor.

“I ran into the little thing in the library. She had some very interesting reading material.”

Severus snorted derisively.

“Yes, she has always been...precocious. What was she reading this time? A book on advanced transfiguration? A subversive manifesto on how to overthrow the government?”

Lucius took the moment to look into the fire, deciding on how to answer.

“Something like that,” he finally said, taking another sip of alcohol.

“Well, annoying as she is, she is relatively harmless, always obsessed with following the rules. I wouldn’t worry too much about her.”

Lucius made a noise of agreement, swirling his glass so that the brown alcohol splashed up the sides.

So his little bird was good at hiding, even from the sharp and keen observing eyes of Severus Snape, the experienced spy.

Interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how this was supposed to be a oneshot for a fest? Yeah, that didn't happen. (So all the chapters are up at once! Have fun!)
> 
> (No beta, we die like men)

**January 1996, Gryffindor Table, The Great Hall**

About a week after Hermione’s encounter with Mr. Malfoy, she started receiving books. About one a week, sometimes more. They didn’t come with the owl post, which she was grateful for. 

Afterall, how would she explain why she had received a copy of  _ Controlling the Soul  _ in unmarked butcher paper.

Instead, the great horned owl would find her when she was alone at odd times of the day. Once when she was alone in her dorm, it pecked at her window for entrance. Another time, she had gone to go see Hagrid without the boys and it had found her walking back to the castle. Most recently, she had been on prefect rounds and had found the bird waiting for her in the hall by the seventh floor.

She checked every package for all the curses, spells, and charms she knew. They never had anything on them that she could find. But inevitably, as soon as she had turned the last page of the book, the owl would find her with more reading material.

At first Hermione had been at a loss. What was she supposed to do? She was almost positive she knew who was sending her the books, but it itched at her brain, and she wanted confirmation. 

It was as she was turning the second book over in her hand that it came to her. The only polite thing to do was to send a thank you note. 

So, after the third package arrived, she started sending letters back with the owl. Her first note was a simple thank you, but as time went on she couldn’t contain her questions. 

She never got direct answers to her questions, but she did begin receiving books that had annotations in the margins. The margin notes looked fresh, and they were all in the same elegant handwriting. Some of the notes answered questions she had asked in her letters, while others reframed issues and challenged her assumptions and preconceptions of how magic worked. Whoever was making the notes was brilliant, and she found herself devoting more and more time to the Dark Arts, spending hours pouring over the neat and practiced script, penning her own letters to her benefactor.

Over Christmas she received a small trunk. It was rich mahogany, engraved with a sketch of Queen Anne’s lace on the top. The letter that accompanied the gift said it was charmed so that if anyone else opened it, it would contain mundane and uninteresting books and trinkets. However if she opened it, she could store her more questionable materials.

She had tested it of course. When she visited 12 Grimmauld Place, she had brought it with her. One evening, with her heart in her throat, she had asked Ginny to go get something out of her trunk to see if the enchantment worked. When Ginny had returned to the room with the scarf in hand, Hermione decided to trust it with her now extensive Dark Arts book collection, as well as with the Dark objects she had begun to both collect and make. 

“Hermione, I need your Charms essay.” Ron’s whiny demand cut through her contemplation. 

She quickly flipped over the book she had just received, scowling at the interruption.

“Well Ronald, perhaps you should have actually done the reading instead of flipping through the December copy of Playwitch for the fifth time,” she bit out, fingers drumming an impatient beat against the smooth leather of the book. Her patience with everyone had been wearing even thinner as of late, not that it was in bountiful supply to begin with. 

“Merlin, Hermione, are you on the rag or something?”

Hermione saw red. Her free hand wrapped around her wand, so tightly that she was sure the vines that twined around its handle would leave indents on her palm.

“No Ronald, I am not  _ on the rag _ , I am simply sick of having to mind you like you’re a bloody child.”

She stood abruptly and turned on her heel, stomping away.

She didn’t turn away fast enough to miss Harry shrugging at Ron with a roll of his eyes. 

There had to be a point where she would stop being hurt when Harry took Ron’s side over hers. But apparently that point hadn’t come yet, because she still felt something cold settle in her chest as she exited the Great Hall.

She unconsciously made her way back to her table, the one where Mr. Malfoy had cornered her months ago.

The books she received were a blessing. They gave her an excuse to spend even less time around her peers. They also allowed her access to more challenging material than her classes provided.

It was surprisingly easy to find time alone to practice, lDark magic. Pretty much everyone left her alone, thinking she was simply studying for the O.W.L.S.. 

Pouring over her new spellbooks, performing new and complex magics, she often thought of Mr. Malfoy. About how his absolute focus on her had been so intense, so intoxicating; about how that one taste of it, though frightening, had left her hungry for more.

Over Christmas break she had managed to build a Dark magic shield that she attached to her favorite hair clip. She was immensely proud of herself, though she had told no one, not even her anonymous benefactor. Creating the ritual had involved weaving two spells and a different ritual into one. The Dark magic shield she created would help ensure that most lower level dark curses and spells would bounce off of her. It did nothing against more advanced spells, but she was satisfied with her first attempt.

It had only required a little the blood of an unwilling subject.

The unwilling subject part had been difficult at first. She didn’t want to actually kill anyone, and more importantly, she didn’t want to get in trouble. She had been at a loss until she realized that she had access to her sleeping roommates, and the capability to keep them asleep and numb while she took just a little blood. She made sure to heal them before they woke up, and none of them ever realized what she had done.. She made sure to take more than she needed for her ritual, keeping the excess under a stasis spell hidden in her new trunk.

All her roommates counted as unwilling; they had no idea they had given any blood.

Hermione settled at her table in the library as she thought through her plan for that evening. It was a new moon, and there was a new ritual she had prepared to perform.

The checklist for that evening was thorough and, though Hermione had it memorized, she reviewed it again out of an abundance of caution. She had all the materials; a knife carved with the appropriate runes, a glass vial that had soaked in essence of murtlap for over two weeks, fresh dittany, and the item she wished to enchant, in her case a watch that had once belonged to her grandmother.

If everything went according to plan, then by sunrise the watch would store magic that she would be able to access if she ever magically exhausted herself..

It wasn’t something she thought she really needed, but she was curious and cautious. She had gotten into enough dicey situations trying to keep harry alive, that she was positive that it would probably come in handy one day.

And she had a lot of time on her hands.

No one knew what she was about to attempt. She had been cagy with her pen pal. He sent her a book on objects that could be imbued with power back at the beginning of December, which had given her the idea. She was still suspicious of him and his motives, so she didn’t share her plans. 

And it wasn’t like any of her friends knew about the majority of her comings and goings.

It stung that no one had really noticed that she pulled away. It was useful for her purposes, but still. 

Her roommates tended to ignore her, her classmates only sought her out for homework help, and Harry and Ron only came to her when they had a problem. If she wasn’t proactive in seeking them out and spending time with them, then they were just happy to putter along without her.

It was painful at first to realize that their friendship only existed because she made the effort and that they sometimes needed someone to cheat off.

She shook her head, doing her best to brush those feelings away, refocusing on her list. 

These feelings were unproductive and extraneous.

* * *

It was close to midnight when she snuck out to the Forbidden Forest. 

This was the the twelfth or so time she had snuck out; each time she did, she was almost insulted by how easy it was. She didn’t even really need Harry’s invisibility cloak, though she still had taken it out of an abundance of caution.

She shivered, despite her thick cloak and multiple warming charms. It hadn’t been this cold the first time she had snuck out. Back in September, Scotland was still clinging to the vestiges of summer, and it had been a surprisingly balmy night. She had needed to sacrifice a magical animal to absorb its magical power, which would allow her access to  _ The Darkest Arts; A Revival  _ . 

When Mr. Malfoy had demanded that she tell him which ritual she had completed to be able to read the book without injuring herself, it had taken a great amount of self preservation not to brag that she had done all three.

By the time she had her first trip to the Forbidden Forest, she had already carved runes into her skin and bathed in the blood of a virgin. The sacrifice of a thestral was easier than she expected, though she had been forced to chase after one for a little. 

She had chosen again to sacrifice another Thestral, both because it was a very magical creature she had easy access to, but also because the animals had an innate connection with the Dark Arts.

She entered the Thestral paddock, holding out a dead chicken she had nicked from behind Hagrid’s hut and slaughtered. This time was easier than the first time; of having to try to chase a Thestral down, it came to her. She couldn’t see it, but she saw the footprints it left and the mist from where its warm breath met the cold air.

As the invisible creature gulped down the raw meat, she worried that the Dark magic she was performing was infecting her aura, and that was what had attracted the Thestral. But she brushed off that concern. She didn’t have time to linger and she could just as easily attribute the Thestral’s easy capture to the raw meat she had brought as a lure.

She consciously relaxed her shoulders as she ran a hand down the neck of the animal that still lingered near her. 

The knife she was holding in her free hand heated until the pommel was almost burning her palm. She took a steadying breath and plunged the blade into the carotid artery of the animal.

Hot blood ran down the delicate bones of her wrist and something like joy wound through her veins.

It was strange, even though she couldn’t see the animal, she could see the blood.

She drew runes with the blood on her forehead and both cheeks. Her heart was racing and her breath was coming out in harsh pants.

She rucked up her skirt and drew them on both thighs as well. The cold breeze felt like a knife 

She emptied her small rucksack that held the rest of her ingredients and finished the ritual. It took mere minutes, and by the end, her watch glowed briefly as the enchantment took hold before fading.

She fastened the watch around her wrist, transformed the body of the thestral into a pebble, and packed up her supplies.

The whole ritual had taken less than thirty minutes.

She snuck back into her dorm, encountering no one on her trek back upstairs.

In the dark solitude of her bed, she wondered if Mr. Malfoy would come and visit again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my love language, I hope you and yours are staying safe!
> 
> As always, my ask box on [tumblr](misselylux.tumblr.com) is open!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How what was supposed to be a 6k story somehow turned into an 19k story.

**March 1996, Gryffindor Common Room**

As winter turned to spring, more books came. 

Not only books on the technical aspects of the Dark Arts, but also philosophy books. Books about how the Christianization of Europe led to the near genocide of the wizarding population. Books about how the influx and acceptance of Muggleborns affected what sorts of magic were socially acceptable. Books about how Muggles remained an existential threat to the wizarding world.

She shut the book she had just been sent,  _ Ancient Blood Magicks _ , and looked up. The Common Room had almost entirely emptied out. Only she, Harry and Ron were left. The two boys were playing chess, lost to the world. She watched them for a minute.

Harry’s hand flew to his forehead and he hissed in pain.

“Oi, mate, what’s wrong?” Ron stood up and crossed to Harry’s side of the chess table. Hermione, without realizing it, had also jumped to her feet and taken the few steps to be next to Harry.

“Just a headache,” Harry’s eyes were scrunched closed and he whispered his answer, his hand still pressed tightly on his forehead.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a concerned look.

“Harry,” she started, gently, aware that the littlest things set him off nowadays, “this seems like it’s more than headaches. Are you sure you shouldn’t talk to someone? Professor Dumbledore? Or maybe ask about it during your lessons with Professor Snape?”

Ron frowned, “I hate to say it, but maybe ‘Mione’s right.”

Hermione winced at the nickname, but her attention remained on Harry.

“No, I told you, Snape’s lessons are worthless,” Harry snapped. “And Dumbledore obviously wants nothing to do with me.”

Hermione worried her lip and glanced down at the book that was still in her hand.

“I’ve read about some rituals involving blood that might help?” She kept her voice soft, mindful of Harry’s discomfort.

“Ritual magic is dangerous ‘Mione,” Ron hissed, eyes bulging as he stared at her, “and blood magic is illegal!”

Hermione pressed her lips together, but said nothing. She had read about why blood magic was illegal, and it was stupid. It was no more dangerous than most other types of magic. For Christ’s sake, they gave children deadly weapons, a little blood was nothing in comparison to the destruction that they could do to each other, even with Second Year spells.

“You probably don’t know because you were raised by Muggles.”It was interesting that Ron said that in the same tone he would have used to say she was raised by wolves.

“Mum says that no good witch or wizard ever attempts ritual magic, let alone blood magic. When Dumbledore took over as Headmaster, he removed it out of the lessons because it was too Dark.”

Hermione again said nothing. It would be useless to try to argue against Ron. Instead she focused on Harry.

“No, it’s not magic that is taught anymore, but I’ve read about it, and by all accounts it's perfectly safe. You need to get the equivalent of a papercut.”

Well, for the ritual she had in mind at least. The ones she had completed had taken significantly more blood than that.

“You shouldn’t even be reading about that stuff! It can scar you for life!” Ron was actually wringing his hands. Hermione shut her eyes, counting to ten in her head.

“Ronald, a book won’t scar me for life. It is perfectly fine.” Well, the book wouldn’t scar her for life because she had proven herself worthy. It probably would scar Ron for life if he picked it up.

“I think Ron’s right,” Harry opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times. “I don’t want to mess with anything Dumbledore disapproves of. It’s not worth it if a cure is evil. Maybe you should stop reading those books. They sound dangerous.”

Hermione forced her face to remain neutral and offered a slight nod, though inside she was seething. Her jaw clenched so hard, she swore she heard her teeth creak. She stood stock still for a full minute while Ron and Harry went back and forth about the merits of contacting Sirius before she was able to fully shake off the annoyance. If these children could not appreciate her attempt to help, she was going to stop offering it.  _ Stupid _ . Why would you throw away a tool simply because it was a little dirty?

She gave both boys frosty goodnights and made her way to her dorm room, thinking.

As angry as she was with Harry, she knew that he needed help. If he wouldn’t take it from her, maybe he would take it from Professor Dumbledore.

* * *

The next morning Hermione woke up early to stop at the owlery. She needed to send Professor Dumbleore a note asking for a meeting.

She received a reply at breakfast that he would be happy to see her after her Prefect rounds that evening.

After her rounds, which were mercifully uneventful, the gargoyle opened without a password, allowing her up to the Headmaster’s office.

Professor Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, and welcomed her in with a warm smile.

“Miss Granger, I was surprised to receive your letter, please, sit. Lemon drop?”

Hermione sat, perching on the very edge of the chair. “No thank you Professor, I wanted to speak about Harry.”

The Headmaster raised his eyebrows and looked at her from behind his half-moon spectacles.“Young Mister Potter has been having a rather hard time, but I’m sure that Professor Snape’s lessons will help.”

She pursed her lips. She had expected to be brushed off, but it was still irritating.“I’m not sure Professor, his headaches seem to be getting worse, and Ron told me his dreams leave him screaming almost every night.”

“I know that it is distressing to have a friend struggle,” Professor Dumbledore nodded gravely, “but I assure you that Professor Snape is best equipped to handle Mister Potter’s issue.”

Though he had made it clear that she should drop the subject, she just could not bring herself to.

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful Professor Dumbledore, but isn’t there something—” Hermione paused, wondering how to word it without revealing she had been reading illegal books, “—some special sort of magic, not taught in Hogwarts? Some old sort of magic that might help him?”

Professor Dumbledore peered at her over his half-moon spectacles, suddenly looking much less like the kindly grandfather he had resembled mere seconds ago.

“No Miss Granger. Old magic, magic we don’t teach in these walls, is dangerous and often Dark. Wizards and witches of good morals do not even dabble in that sort of magic. Professor Snape has this matter well in hand.” His tone was sharp and brokered no argument.

Hermione knew the end of a conversation when she heard it, but she couldn’t help but push once more. 

“I’m sure he does, Professor, but maybe, is there something we could do to make things easier for Harry now? I know that in Hogwarts a History there is mention of a—a ritual magic class? Could that help?”

Professor Dumbldore was fully frowning at her now.

“Miss Granger, it alarms me that you would even ask about such a thing. I know that Hogwarts a History also details how ritual magic classes were removed from the curriculum because of the danger they posed to students. Such magic is not to be trifled with, and it would behoove you to forget it even exists.”

Hermione did not care for the searching look that Professor Dumbledore was giving her, so she put on her best impression of a suitably chastised child, and pouted slightly, hanging her head.

“Of course, Professor Dumbledore. I just wanted to help. Thank you for your time.” She stood to leave, still not meeting his gaze.

“I understand the impulse, it is good of you to want to be of assistance to a dear friend. But this is a time to let the adults handle it.” The Headmaster still was looking at her with too much interest, and she wanted to get out of his office before she raised any more misgivings.

“Yes Headmaster, goodnight.”

She didn’t like the suspicious look in his eye as he watched her leave.

Out of impulse, she went in the opposite direction of the Gryffindor Common Room. Instead, she headed downstairs to the dungeons.

Knocking on Professor Snape’s office door was not something she had anticipated doing. But she rationalized it to herself. Professor Snape hadn’t shied away from the Dark Arts. He couldn’t have, he was a spy for the Order and a Death Eater. If Professor Dumbledore was putting his trust in Professor Snape, then there might be something to that. He had to be open to alternative ways to help Harry.

No one answered her knock and she was relieved It had been a foolish impulse. She went to turn away, regretting her decision, when the door to Professor Snape’s office swung open.

“Miss Granger, is someone dead or dying?” His tone was brusque and impatient.

“No, but—”

“Then goodnight, and ten points from Gryffindor” 

He went to slam the door in her face.

She stuck her foot in the door to catch it. 

“Miss Granger—”

Her words came in a rush, tumbling out of her mouth before she could give them much thought. “I know you don’t like me Professor, but Harry is still having nightmares and headaches and I know you’re working with him, but—”

Snape was scowling down at her in a way that would normally have made her run in the other direction, but stubbornness kept her rooted in place.

“Mister Potter’s inability to keep his mouth shut notwithstanding, I am aware of his issues. And this is none of your—”

She was shocked at her own nerve, but she interrupted him again.

“Don’t you think there might be other sorts of magic that might help?”

Professor Snape scoffed, and she felt heat rise to her face.

“What would  _ you _ know of other magics Miss Granger?”

A frisson of self doubt welled up in her.

“Well, there were some books—”

Professor Snape hissed derisively.“You would do well to keep your nose out of other magics, the texts available in the library are barely enough to tell you the basics. You are liable to harm or kill someone if you play around with extracurricular material.”

How dare he question her abilities? How dare he believe that she wouldn’t do all the research possible before trying something new? So she pressed on.

“I am aware that there are dangers, but Professor, but Harry is in pain, and the dreams are the same, or so he says. They seem less like dreams and more like visions.”

He rolled his eyes impatiently, and pushed on the door again, trying to close it. She winced as the door hit her foot again.

“You are not telling me anything I do not know, Miss Granger, now leave. And fifteen more—” 

His voice was raised and he was yelling at her and she couldn’t stop herself.

“But a variation of Lao Tze’s spirit cleansing ritual might be able to help!”

She immediately regretted saying anything.

Professor Snape forze in place, gaping down at her.

Her hand flew over her mouth, and she grasped for her wand, maybe she could obliviate him, she thought wildly. She had no explanation as to why she should know that ritual, it was past the line of grey magic and solidly Dark. 

If Professor Snape told the Headmaster—

Professor Snape wrapped a hand around her wrist and yanked her into his office. 

“How do you know that ritual Miss Granger?” His fierce gaze glittered in the low light.

She shook her head; her hair whipped her cheeks, and she pressed her lips together.

His grip tightened on her wrist, grinding the delicate bones together. 

She bit her lip to suppress a whimper, trying to pull away, but failing.

“I read about it!” Her voice was high pitched and frantic. This is what she got for being a know-it-all and trying to help, she thought viciously, still trying to twist out of his grasp.

“You didn’t read about it in any book you found in this building.”

“It was in Grimmauld Place!” She stopped struggling and instead tried to focus on coming up with a plausible excuse.

Professor Snape let her wrist go and she cradled it to her chest, taking a hasty step away. Her back hit the closed door.

“You’re lying.” His tone was flat, but she didn’t dare look at the expression on her face. Instead she did her best to concentrate on fortifying her Occlumency barrier, focusing on one of the disgusting jars on his shelf.

“I just want to help,” she whispered.

She could tell he was looking at her, but she still refused to focus on him for fear she would catch his eye. She remembered how Harry had described having his brian rifled through. Though she had read all the books on Occlumency she could get her hands on, she still lacked the practical experience and feared that someone who could spy against Voldemort would be a much more powerful Legilimens than Mr. Malfoy had been.

“What have you done?” The shock was obvious in his voice and it surprised her so much, she stole a glance at his face. He was pale—more pale than usual—and his hands were visibly shaking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, all I did was read about it in a book I found in Grimmauld.” She kept her voice low and took half a step to the right so that she was right in front of the door knob, preparing to open the door and flee.

“You are playing a very dangerous game, and I suspect you don’t know the rules.” He whispered, still staring at her in shock.

Heart in her throat, Hermione shook her head, her hand behind her back scrabbling for the knob. Her hand wrapped around the cool metal and she turned it, desperate. 

“How far have you fallen Hermione?”

The knob turned and she turned and flung open the door. She raced down the hall, faster than she remembered running ever before.

She arrived in Gryffindor Common Room panting, muscles screaming from exertion. 

Luckily it was late enough that no one was in the Common Room, so she let her legs give way beneath her. She sunk against a wall, going to her knees. She tasted bile at the back of her throat and coughed hard, trying not to retch.

* * *

Lucius was pursuing his shelf, contemplating what to send next to his little bird, when Severus Snape practically fell through his fireplace.

Lucius merely raised an eyebrow in question.

Severus stood and didn’t even bother to dust off his black robes before sinking into the nearest wingback chair. Severus Snape looked haunted.

“To what do I owe this visit?” Lucius asked, making his way to the bar cart in the corner of the room. The poor man looked like he needed an entire bottle, but Lucius poured Severus two fingers of his good, but not top shelf, whiskey.

“Why did you ask me about Hermione Granger?”

Lucius did not still his movements, though pretending to be nonchalant about that girl took all of his years of practice. He kept his back turned while he poured himself a drink as well.

“Mere curiosity. I saw her while I was waiting for the Board of Governors meeting. I wondered if she had been living up to Dumbledore’s effusive praise.” Lucius purposefully kept his tone light. Now what had his little bird done to garner the notice of Severus?

“You’re lying.” The tone was matter of fact.

Lucius turned around, floating both glasses over to where Severus was sitting. Severus grabbed one at random and downed it in a gulp. He then grabbed the other and did the same.

Lucius let a shadow of surprise show on his face. “What happened?”

Severus shook his head and shut his eyes for a second. Lucius was concerned. He hadn’t seen his friend so out of sorts since Lily Potter died.

“The stupid girl has been playing around with magic she has no business knowing.”

Ah, so she had been careless. “How do you know that?”

“She came down tonight, to ask why Potter wasn’t getting more help with his...issues. She let slip that she knew about Lao Tze’s spirit cleansing ritual. When I asked her about it, she said something about the Black library. But I knew the Black library well, Regulus and I would spend a great deal of time there back during school breaks. There was no mention of that ritual in any of those books. ”

“Surely a swot getting outside reading material is no concern of yours, and that certainly doesn’t explain why you’re in such a state.”

“I—I examined her aura. I almost never do it, I’m the only member of faculty that can, but I generally never use the ability. Children are a riot of colors and I get headaches easily. But her’s—”

Severus stopped and swallowed hard, his head dropping to his hands.

“Her’s was the closest I’ve seen to the Dark Lord’s, other than Bellatrix.”

Lucius could not keep the surprised expression off of his face, but said nothing, letting Severus continue to ramble.

“It’s not just that she is exceptionally powerful. It’s that she’s been more than dabbling in the Dark Arts. It has turned her aura into something like a sky at night. There are pinpricks of light, some brighter than others, but her affinity for the Dark Arts is astronomical.”

“You’re telling me a mere girl of fifteen has magical capabilities closer to the Dark Lord than any other Death Eater? Closer than Rookwood? Closer than Theodore Nott Sr.?” Lucius didn’t have to fake the shock in his voice.

Lucius flicked his wand and the decanted floated over from the bar cart, filling both glasses again. Severus reached out a shaky hand and grabbed a glass, while Lucius got the other.

They both emptied them in one swallow.

“Yes. That is exactly what I’m telling you. But she’s not fifteen.”

“Fine then,” said Lucius, waving away the unimportant detail with a lazy hand, “sixteen.”

Severus shook his head, his thin mouth twisting into a grimace. “Eighteen.”

Lucius’ brow crinkled in confusion. “How is she eighteen?”

“That fool Dumbledore allowed her a Time-Turner to take extra classes. She abused it and added two years.”

Lucius shook his head in disbelief.

“Merlin” he breathed. His silver eyes went to Severus, examining the shaken man carefully.

“So Severus, what are you going to do?”

Severus leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. “There is no way Dumbledore would believe me. Her affinity with Dark magic is not something he would be able to confirm for himself. And Potter relies on her too heavily. If she was removed, the idiot boy would fall apart. She’s too valuable an asset to be discarded.”

“So,” Lucius regarded his old friend carefully, “you’re just going to keep quiet?”

“No, I told you, I’m obviously not keeping quiet.”

“What do you expect me to do about it.”

Severus’ black eyes glinted as he gave Lucius a long stare.

“I suspect your interest in the girl was more than mere curiosity. My position is precarious, but yours is not. Bring this girl to the Dark Lord’s attention.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Why? What game are you playing?”

“Survival. I fear neither master trusts me, and neither has kept up the promises they made me. I am ensuring my future, no matter the outcome.”

Lucius regarded Severus skeptically.

“And what of your promise to protect Lily’s son?”

Severus twitched and Lucius could see the shadow of the wince he suppressed.

“I was a fool,” Severus’ voice was like gravel, “Neither kept their promise to protect her, and now both would see the boy dead. My life is dispensable to all sides and no one trusts me. I must work on my own behalf for once.”

Lucius said nothing, but his mind was racing. It only took him a minute to come to a decision.

“I will discuss her with the Dark Lord. But I will tell him that this is a joint project. If this goes well, then we will both take credit. If this goes poorly then the blame will be halved for each of us and shared.”

Severus nodded and finished what remained of his drink 

“We will discuss this more later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my love language.
> 
> My ask box is always open on my [tumblr](misselylux.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be like 6K.
> 
> And here we are.

**April 1996, Hogwarts Library**

A week later, Hermione was beside herself. She was a wreck and had slept very little, ready for Professor Dumbledore or the Aurors to sweep into the room and place her under arrest. Her stress response was tears, so she had cried almost every day since she had sprinted from Professor Snape’s office.

How could she been as stupid and reveal that she had been studying dark rituals? Why couldn’t she just have kept her mouth shut for once? When would she learn to stop putting being right above self preservation?

The time that passed didn’t ease her fears. Instead, she found herself flinching at every sudden movement. Her classmates attributed it to O.W.L.’s stress, and she let them think that, happy that everyone stayed out of her way, though she could admit to being a little disappointed that no one even reached out.

She was lost in her thoughts as she entered the library, hoping to at least do a little reading on the most recent book her anonymous benefactor had sent her. She turned the last corner before she reached her table and stopped short. Lucius Malfoy was waiting for her. 

Mr. Malfoy rose from the table and executed a low bow. Hermione monitored it for any mocking edge, but could find none.

He pulled out a chair for her and she walked towards him warily. She perched on the edge of the chair, keeping her bag and book protectively clasped against her chest.

Mr. Malfoy resumed his seat next to her, and she stole a quick glance at his face. He was entirely focused on her, and she was suddenly hyper aware of her body, her mouth dry. She looked away, staring just to the right of his head, determined to avoid his gaze.

“I see you have new reading material.” His eyes went to her book and he smirked.

Hermione refolded her arms over her bag and her book. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I seemed to have acquired a patron.” 

He grinned at her, sharp and dangerous.

“I insist you call me Lucius. You’ve proved to be such an excellent conversationalist, I suspect we will be having many more talks. Have you received anything interesting?” His question was light and airy but she saw the intensity in his expression.

“Many things.” She kept her answer short. The suspense of not knowing what he wanted from her, combined with the already stressful week she was having made her want to cry. Again.

“But you have tried some.”

Despite her racing heart Hermione managed a nonchalant shrug.

Lucius leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I hear you’re keeping secrets.”

Hermione could not help but glance towards the exits.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her tone clipped.

“Well, for one you’re not fifteen.”

Hermione swallowed and looked at him for just a second. His smile had a teasing edge. He was playing with her. That made her more nervous. “No, I never said I was, my birthday is in September.”

“But you’re not sixteen either.”

Hermione said nothing, and instead slid slightly further back in her seat. She tried to pretend she was at ease, placing her bag and book on the table in front of her. But after the items were settled she placed both hands under the table, one on her thigh, the other in her pocket, gripping her wand.

“You were quite the ambitious student. That Time-Turner you used gave you two extra years. I’ve been wearing kid gloves with you when I should have been treating you like an adult.”

“If  _ Death Magick in the Dark _ was something you’d send to a child, then you might want to reevaluate your choices.” She whispered, still not looking at his beautiful face.

Lucius hummed noncommittally and then shifted closer, leaning in like he wanted to share a secret. “Did you know that there are some people who can see dark magic residue?”

Hermione froze, stock still, a deer in headlights. The hand that was on her thigh turned to a claw, her fingers digging into the flesh there with fear. Her grip was so tight she knew it would leave bruises. She opened her mouth, but no noise emerged.

“Some people are born with the ability. My late wife was one of those people. Others acquire it by...other means.”

“Ritual?” She couldn’t help but ask, even though she tasted sour fear on the back of her tongue.

Lucius nodded. “Of a sort.”

She felt her heart in her throat and realized she was shaking.

“And is this an ability you possess?” She was relieved her voice was steady, if soft.

“No, but Severus Snape does.”

Hermione felt the blood rush from her head, leaving her dizzy and faint. Snape could see Dark magic. That meant—

“Breath, little bird.” A warm had landed on the back of her neck, strong fingers rubbing reassuring circles into the delicate skin there.

“But if he—then Dumbledore—” She gasped.

This was it, this was her worst fear. She was going to be expelled, she was going to have to go on the run. She had ruined her entire life out of foolishness.

“Hush,” Lucius said, not unkindly. “Snape may have...dubious loyalty, but there are other plans for you in play. Besides, he knows that Dumbledore would have trouble believing that you had sacrificed an animal for its power. Or was it bathed in the blood of a virgin? You never did get around to telling me. Which one was it?”

Hermione still felt like she was going to be sick and shook her head, lips pressed firmly together. She felt the sharp spikes of anxiety filling her chest, beating against her ribs, piercing her soft skin.

“I have persuaded Severus to hold off. This is not free for you though.” Lucius kept the gentle pressure on the back of her neck.

Her face felt hot. Her eyes were round as she looked up at Lucius and she could feel the pinpricks of tears welling behind her eyes. She hated that her stress response was to cry, which made her even more frustrated, which in turn led to more crying. She blinked hard to try to regain control, but only succeeded in making them run down her cheeks.

He had cornered her, she was going to have to do what he said or risk Azkaban. She had wrecked her entire life with that one reckless decision.

He leaned down, and she looked determinedly at a bookcase just past his head to avoid eye contact.

“There, there, little bird, no tears,” he murmured, bringing the thumb of his free hand to her cheek to brush away her tears, “none of that.”

His touch was gentle, but she could swear she felt every ridge of his fingerprint on her face.

She drew in a shaky breath and opened her mouth to bite out a scathing reply. But she had nothing to say, so instead she bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

“Now, tell me, what have you learned?” Lucius leaned back, though he kept one hand on the back of her neck, anchoring her in place.

His steady touch for some reason soothed her frayed nerves. She took a shaky breath, and then another.

It was an unseasonably warm day, and it was a Hogsmeade weekend, so there was no one around, but Hermione still peered around his bulk suspiciously.

Lucius followed her gaze and he twisted the top of his cane to release his wand. With a flourish of his wrist he cast privacy charms around the two of them.

Her shoulders relaxed a fraction, but tension still kept her back stiff and on edge. Lucius gave the back of her neck a reassuring squeeze.

“You know I can’t take the information from you by force without destroying that intriguing mind of yours, so you might as well actually look at me.”

Her eyes went to his quickly. She flinched once, reflexively, and then brought her gaze slowly back. He was smirking at her. Instead of annoying her and making her want to punch his face, the sentiment inspired by the same look on the face of his son, she instead fought the urge to smile at him in return. His chiseled features were more regal and less rodent-like, his sharp jaw was strong and defined, and his lean body was offset by broad shoulders. His long blond hair was pulled back. It looked soft, she thought, distracted for a second.

* * *

Lucius flexed his hand on her neck, reminding her that he was in control of this situation. “Now isn’t this better, little bird? More intimate?”

Hermione worried her lip, but kept her mouth shut.

“So,” he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, his silver eyes intense, “let’s start at the beginning of again. Which of the three rituals did you complete to be able to read  _ Darkest Arts; A Revival _ ?”

Hermione swallowed hard.

“All three.” Her voice was so low that Lucius leaned in, unsure he had heard her correctly.

His eyebrows shot up, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“Pardon?”

A small smug smile tucked into the corners of her mouth.

“You heard me.”

He had a new respect for this woman. He had known that she was smart, but this was something else. “How—all three?”

Hermione nodded and settled back into her chair, leaning into his touch on her neck. Her cinnamon eyes were still red rimmed from her crying, but he saw amusement there as she watched Lucius process the information.

“Tell me,” his eyes were riveted to her face. She was so beautiful, a delicate creature, vicious and cunning, and so very powerful. Malfoys always were attracted to power. He wanted her.

“Well, the animal sacrifice ritual was easy enough. I did it the first evening back. It was a Thestral in the Forbidden Forest.” She tilted her chin up in a challenging motion, as if she was begging him to second guess her. He didn’t though. He knew better than to underestimate her.

“You can see them?”

She shook her head. “No, but I knew where they tended to roam and they’re docile. I had fresh meat. I had to chase one a little, but it was easy enough.”

Lucius restrained his surprise. Thestrals were not actually that docile, despite being used to pull the carriages. Hagrid was able to handle them, but he was one of the very few. They were still powerful, finnickey creatures. She had done an immensely complex ritual after only four full years of magical education. He made a mental note to ask the Dark Lord about why the Thestrals may have been easier for her to use in ritual, when others found them impossible to work with.

“And whose blood did you bathe in?” He rubbed his thumb just below her hair line and she made an unconscious pleased noise in the back of her throat

“My own,” she sighed out.” I had to collect it over a period of weeks in order to have enough.’

“You’re a virgin?” His hand tightened on the back of her neck as a pretty blush colored her cheeks.

She looked away briefly and then turned back with an air of determination. “Obviously.”

He rewarded her with a smile. “Clever girl. Show me the runes.”

“Do your privacy charms cover us being seen?” Her pink tongue darted out to wet her plush lower lip and he followed it with a hungry gaze. 

He held back an offended scoff. “Of course they do. Do you take me for a fool?”

Hermione didn’t bother answering. Instead, she pushed her chair back from the table enough so that her lap was visible. She pulled up her pleated skirt and spread her legs so that her inner thighs were visible.

Lucius couldn’t look away from the creamy skin of her lush thighs. He reached for her. To his surprise she didn’t flinch away. Instead she let him run his thumb over the runes carved into her skin reverentially. The scars were still pink with newness and they were raised. They were beautiful. Goosebumps blossomed across her skin, and she inhaled audibly at his touch.

He moved his hand that was still on the back of her neck to lace through her hair, holding her in place. She arched her back, putting her tits better on display.

She had pulled up her skirt enough so that he could see her knickers—innocent white cotton. His hand was close enough so that if he simply extended his fingers a few inches more, he could brush across the gusset of her underwear.

His eyes flicked to her face. She was blushing and she had bitten down on her lip. He tightened the hand in her hair experimentally and she whimpered.

His answering grin was sharp and feral. He leaned in deliberately, sliding his hand further up her thigh.

“So, you really are quite the bad girl, aren’t you my little bird?”

Hermione didn’t answer, but her gaze caught on his mouth. He deliberately licked his lower lip, and her gaze, just like his had mere moments ago, followed the movement.

“I was just curious.” Hermione breathed out, her eyes still on his mouth.

“I’m sure you were.” Mr. Malfoy continued to rub circles over the runes on her thigh. 

Her legs fell apart slightly as she hitch her hips forward, towards his touch.

“Have you enjoyed your new reading material?”

“Yes.” Her voice was breathy.

“Oh? And what lessons have you learned?”

Hermione blinked once, twice. He watched as she sat up a little. Her movement caused his hand to pull at her hair more, and she let out a pleased sounding huff. 

It was fun, watching her try to put herself together. He knew she must have questions. She had sent some in her letters, but the notes in the margins of books could only answer so many of them. She was unable to talk with anyone else about all the new theories and information running through her brain, and here he was, offering himself up as a resource. He knew she wouldn’t be able to resist.

“I had some questions about the evolution of the Ministry guidelines on which types of magic constitute Dark magic, and how that might have impacted the development of wizarding society.” 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the book that you sent week before last,  _ A Historical Review of Ministry Guidelines _ , blamed Muggleborns for the vilification of magics that are considered Dark, or even grey. It said that the impact of Christianity and its infusion into culture via Muggleborns and half-bloods has robbed the wizarding world of the full richness of magic.”

Mr. Malfoy nodded, eyebrow still raised.

“But it doesn’t address why if Muggleborns and half-bloods had an impact on classification of certain types of magic as taboo, then why didn’t they have an impact on the development of new technology or other parts of culture? As much disdain as the magical world has for Muggles, it’s impossible to deny the amazing technological developments in the Muggle world.”

He loosened his hand in her hair and focused more closely on what she was saying. “What do you mean?”

“Well, why is the most common form of entertainment in the wizarding world the radio? Why is there not a television, a box that transmits audio and visual programming, like plays, that you can watch from your home. Why have Wizards not gone into space? Muggles have landed on the moon. They did that almost thirty years ago.”

The movement of his fingertips resumed and he regarded her thoughtfully.

“You may have something. There is a certain...reluctance to adopt new things, especially by the old guard. The advent of the wizarding wireless took a good fifty years to become acceptable.”

“My point is though, that how can Muggleborns be to blame for the criminalization of certain types of magic that were traditionally practiced by old, powerful, and important families if they don’t even have enough sway to even get useful technology adopted?”

Lucius leaned back, keeping his hand in place on her leg and in her hair, but regarding her thoughtfully. Inside he was immensely pleased. He had told the Dark Lord that she was smart. He had provided relatively bare bones information, and she had figured out a fundamental flaw in the story told by the good and great about the big bad Dark Lord. 

“If it’s not Muggleborns, then why is there a limitation on magic?”

Hermione shrugged and licked her lips. Lucius followed the path of her tongue with his eyes. He wondered if she would taste as sweet as she looked.

“I don’t know. Do any other entities or factions have an interest in limiting the magic available for use?”

He gave her an approving smile and he watched as she preened. “You’ve posed an interesting question. I will have to discuss it with some of my...friends.”

Hermione nodded, and tried to turn her focus back to her book, but Lucius used his palm on her inner thigh to squeeze, not hard enough to cause pain, but with enough pressure to get her attention.

“No tell me, have you gotten into the...practicalities of any of the lessons?”

Hermione blinked several times, distracted. His hand had inched up, and were now stroking the very edge of her rune scars, brushing the elastic of knickers.

He stopped the motion of her fingers, and her attention snapped back to his face.

“What have you done, from the reading material?” He repeated.

She regarded him warily. He wanted to know what she had been able to accomplish, though he appreciated her reluctance to share. Though he had given her enough information to incriminate him, they both were keenly aware that an accusation against him by her would not hold as much weight as if he decided to turn her into the Ministry, or even Umbridge. So the more she revealed, the more at risk she placed herself.

Lucius , so close he could smell the sweet scent of her skin.

“I promise to keep your secrets if you keep mine.”

Heat flared between them and she met his gaze, entrancing, her eyes warm brown and gold and intense.

“I don’t believe I can fully trust you Lucius.”

“I’m not sure you can either Hermione.”

She didn't get up and leave, run to confess to Dumbledore, something to escape.

Instead, she told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deeply appreciate comments!
> 
> Thank you for taking to time to read.
> 
> As always, my ask box is always open on my [tumblr](misselylux.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**June 1996, Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic**

Hermione had told Harry that this was an asinine idea. 

But Harry, egged on by Ron and Ginny, of all people, had refused to listen to her. So she had been forced to lure Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest and then corral these children on a doomed rescue mission.

At least the Thestrals had been willing to help them get to the Ministry.

She was seething quietly as they attempted to pick their way to the hall from Harry’s dreams. Luckily, she had been wearing both her watch and the hair clip she had enchanted against low level Dark curses. Hopefully it would be enough to help keep them all from being murdered, walking into this obvious trap. 

She wasn’t overly optimistic about their chances.

The room full of brains made her want to vomit, and the ominously billowing archway made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. 

She didn’t tell Harry, but she had heard the voices too.

By the time they finally got to the right room,Hermione’s instincts were screaming that something was wrong.

And she told Harry— _ she told him _ —not to pick up the orb. Just like she had told him this was a trap. Just like she told him that he should resume lessons with Professor Snape. Just like she had told him hundreds of different things in a vain hope to try to keep this dumb child alive.

But just like every other time, he didn’t listen.

Mr. Malfoy’s smooth voice made her freeze in place.

She saw the surprise on his face when her brown eyes met his silver ones. He didn’t address her directly, and she said nothing to him. She refocused on Harry, knowing that he was about to do something stupid.

And sure enough, he did.

In the chaos that ensued, she ended up on her own. Harry had grabbed Neville, and the others paired off, leaving her to fend for herself. She would be mad if she wasn’t so terrified.

She ran flat out, zig zagging to make herself a harder target to hit, not even knowing if there was anyone chasing her. She couldn’t hear anything above the pounding of blood in her ears and the slap of her feet on hard concrete. She somehow got back to the room with the ominous arch and she looked around for a hiding place, a way out, something.

The door she had just come through banged open and she whipped around, wand out, ready to attack.

She drew breath, ready to cast the deadliest curse she remembered. In that split second she was grateful she was alone. At least there was no one to see the definitely illegal curse she was about to perform.

The spell died on her lips though when she saw who it was.

Mr. Malfoy was as disheveled as she had ever seen him. His long hair was loose and windblown. There was color high on his cheeks and he was panting with exertion.

“Merlin woman, for someone who spends all her time behind a desk, you’re quite fast.”

“Thought I was going to die.” Her free hand went to the stitch at her side, but she still clutched her wand. She looked over Mr. Malfoy’s shoulder, keeping an eye on the entrance, lest a less friendly party come through. “Mr. Malfoy, what a surprise seeing you here. You do know that Harry’s never going to give up the orb, don’t you?”

For someone who was sweaty and out of breath, Mr. Malfoy’s shrug remained as aristocratic and nonchalant as ever.

“We’re not actually here for the prophecy. The Dark Lord knows what it says now. And, I told you last time, call me Lucius.”

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Lucius, then what are you here for?”

“The boy. You.”

Hermione took a defensive step back, her arm raising slightly to aim her wand, just in case.

“ _ Me _ ? Why?”

Lucius shook his hair out of his face and smirked at her. “The Dark Lord is intrigued by you. He’s been informed of our...correspondence, and he’s heard of your brilliance from Severus. He was quite interested about your notion that Mudbloods aren’t to blame for the destruction of old magic. He wishes to discuss it with you more in depth.”

“And he couldn’t have just owled?” Hermione would have liked to say that her witty retort was calm and steady. But it was high pitched and even she could hear the fear in it.

“No, he’d like to see you now.” Lucius took a step forward and Hermione took a step back.

“I don’t like my chances of surviving this encounter.” She bit out. She still felt unsteady, and the voices that seemed to be emanating from the arch were throwing off her concentration.

“Nonsense.” He waved a hand as if to dismiss the notion, but Hermione noticed that he still had his wand trained on her. “The murder and mayhem you’ve heard about is not his style. Some of his more...zealous followers, maybe. But I promise. You will survive this encounter relatively unscathed.”

“ _ Relatively _ unscathed leaves a lot of wiggle room.”

He didn’t dispute that. “You’ll have to let down your occlumency shields.”

“And he won’t just kill me for being born to Muggle parents?” Her skepticism came through in her tone.

Lucius laughed, actually laughed, rich and deep. “Circe, no. Potter was right, the Dark Lord is a half-blood. He doesn’t care for the attitudes of some Muggleborns, and he hates the loss and destruction of the old ways, but he won’t murder you just for not being a pureblood.

Hermione had to make a conscious effort to close her mouth to avoid gaping like a fish. This was not in line with what she had been taught about The First War and how Voldemort conducted his business. Narrowing her eyes, she tried to make a decision. While she didn’t fully trust Lucius, they had a rapport, and something else maybe. She wasn’t sure if she could trust him with her life, but once again, he had her backed into a corner, and the only real choice she had was to cooperate with him. 

“If I go with you, you have to call off your dogs. Don’t go after Harry.”

Lucius considered her for a second. The voices in the room seemed to swell in the silence and Hermione shook her head slightly to try to focus.

He gave her a nod and extended his left arm, rolling up his sleeve to expose his Dark Mark. She hadn’t seen one up close before and she couldn’t help but lean in to get a closer look. It was elegant, and the snake seemed to look at her.

Pressing the tip of his wand to the Mark, he hissed slightly.

She couldn’t contain her curiosity. “Does that hurt?”

He gave her a smirk that made her toes curl in her trainers. “No, my little bird, hurt is not the word I would use.”

She bit her lip, trying to hold back more questions.

It didn’t work.

“What did you do?”

“Called off the dogs, as promised,” he rolled his sleeve back down and kept his arm out, unfurling his fingers in a beckoning gesture. “Now come, we can’t keep him waiting.”

Hermione took a hesitant step towards Lucius and stopped. “How do I know that you’ve actually gotten them to retreat?”

A sharp smile stole across his face. “You’ll have to trust me just this once.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“The Dark Lord has experiences, power, knowledge, that are beyond your wildest dreams. And he wants to talk to you. Don’t you want your questions answered? Don’t you want to see if Dumbledore was wrong? If maybe the big bad dark is more than you’ve been told?”

Hermione gripped her wand tighter, trying to weigh her choices. If she went she was only putting her own life at risk. If she didn’t go, Lucius would probably still take her and might continue to go after the children. Even though they had abandoned her, she still felt a sense of obligation to try to protect them, they were so young.

She gave a jerky nod and took the last few steps towards him. His large hand curled around her wrist, much more gentle than Professor Snape had been. He drew her in, up against his body. She fought the urge to melt into him. He was warm, and in the shadow of his tall frame, she felt alarmingly safe.

“That’s it, my little bird, I’ll take care of you,” the rumble of his voice sent a shiver down her spine.

The pull of disapparation made her clutch Lucius more closely as they left the Ministry with a pop.

* * *

**July 1996, Malfoy Manor**

Lucius lounged against a column in his foyer. He noted idly that the decor could use updating. The last time it had been revamped had been shortly before Narcissa died, which was nearly 16 years ago,

The front door swung open, and Lucius turned to meet the visitor.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” Hermione had a sly smile on her face, but she still hesitated at the threshold.

He took quick sure steps towards her and grabbed her hand, raising it to his lips. He first brushed a kiss across her knuckles, and then he turned her hand to press a kiss into her palm and then another into the delicate flesh of her wrist.

“Hermione,” he breathed out against her skin, “it’s a pleasure to have you here.”

The blush that colored her cheeks was dark pink and delectable. 

“I’m happy to be here.”

He drew back, and looked her over. She was a vision in her light summer sundress, and he offered her his most charming smile.

“You didn’t get any trouble?”

Hermione shook her head, allowing Lucius to take her bag. “No, I told my parents I had gotten a prestigious internship, and I told Harry and Ron I was travelling internationally with my parents until late August.”

He nodded, approving over her little act of subterfuge.

She wrung her hands. His poor little bird, for all her intelligence and superficial confidence, was still nervous. But he knew what would put her at ease.

“Lovely, well, may I show you to the library?”

Her face lit up and she smiled widely at him. “Please.”

He offered her his arm, which she took. He felt the warm imprint of her hand through his robes, and he grinned down at her.

“I’m sure your time here will be very...informational.”

Their eyes caught and her pupils dilated. She was the one who broke eye contact, and he watched as her blush spread down her neck.

They were most of the way to the library when his son rounded a corner. 

Draco had never been good at concealing his emotions, so Lucius wasn’t surprised at the shock that crossed Draco’s face.

Hermione stiffened when she caught sight of him, her muscles tensing and her hand squeezing his forearm.

“Malfoy,” Hermione said in greeting, nodding at Draco.

“Granger, Father.” A beat of silence passed as Draco focused on Lucius. “When you said Granger would be staying here, I thought you were kidding.”

Lucius gave his son a nonplussed look. 

“No, the Dark Lord was quite impressed after their meeting. He has decided that she is in need of advanced study over the summer. I trust you will be able to join in on some of her lessons.”

“Of course Father, I would be honored.” Draco knew a command when he heard one.

Hermione offered him a vicious smile.“I look forward to getting to know you better.” 

Draco winced slightly. He glanced at Lucius who gave him a brief nod.

“Yes, well, I suppose I should—” Draco hesitated like the words were caught in his throat, “—apologize. I was—I spoke to you poorly. I have been informed now and know that my prejudice against your blood status were inappropriate. So I apologize.”

Lucius watched as Hermione regarded Draco passively, making the boy squirm in the silence.

Finally, she nodded. “I accept your apology. But I’m still going to kick your arse in these advanced lessons.”

Draco offered her a slight bow and an uncomfortable smile. “I'll certainly put up a fight. Now if you’ll excuse me, Blaise and Theo are waiting for me in Diagon Alley.”

Draco left them and they continued to the library. Once the door closed behind the two of them Lucius turned to her, crowding her and forcing her to retreat until her back hit the door and he was pressed up against her.

He tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?”

A small smirk twisted her lips. “No, seeing your son eat crow was quite satisfying, thank you.”

“That’s not fair,” he chided, smiling, “a woman of your age bullying a child.”

Hermione slapped an open hand on his chest in a joking manner, and he caught in and held it in place against his heart.

“Now Mr. Malfoy, I’ll have you know that I am no crone.”

He leaned in, catching her scent of roses and honeysuckle. He wondered again if she would taste as sweet as she smelled. “I told you, Lucius.”

She looked at him through hooded eyes and he was drawn in, her gaze a siren song.

“Lucius,” she murmured.

She was the one who leaned in to capture his lips. Her lips were as sweet as he thought they would be. She was soft and hot and he felt consumed by her. Their kiss was more than he had anticipated. He groaned into their kiss and let himself get lost in her touch. His tongue asked for entrance, which she granted readily. He stepped in even closer so that he was pinning her hips against the solid wood door with his. She could surely feel the thick line of his erection pressed up against her stomach. She was soft curves and sweetness and he wanted more.

His hands held her hips firmly against the door, each of his fingertips pressing into her flesh. He hoped he would leave bruises for her to admire in the mirror later. Her hands were wrapped around his neck, holding him in close.

He pulled back panting. She looked up at him through sooty lashes. Her lips were kiss stained and she was flushed. It took all his will power not to dive back into her. He had to forcefully remind himself that he needed to be in control right now, that this delicate, passionate, little slip of a thing would be with him for more than a month. He would have plenty of time to explore her later.

He did lean in and gentled a soft kiss against her mouth and then one against her forehead, savoring their closeness, before leading her to a sofa. 

She didn’t sit though. The break in their kissing had given her a glimpse of the room they were in and he lost her to the books. In fairness, he had quite an impressive collection in his personal library. Floor to ceiling shelves took up every wall. This is where he kept the more dangerous and taboo books, but he had no qualms about her perusing them. Afterall, he had already sent her some of the darkest, and she had read them and come back with more questions, eager to learn.

He sat on the sofa by the fireplace and watched her flit from shelf to shelf, her wild hair bouncing along with her. He let her wander for a few minutes, content to watch her.

“So my little bird, what happened after you left your meeting with the Dark Lord? We haven’t had a chance to discuss.” While her back was turned he summoned a house elf with a click of his fingers and had him set out tea for two. He had heard from Draco that she had a weird thing about house elves, something that he was sure they would discuss soon, given the ubiquity of the elves on Malfoy property.

“Well,” Hermione began in a distracted way, her eyes still going from title to title, hand hovering over the tomes, “after you brought me back to the Ministry I was able to find the children. By the time I got there the Order had begun appearing. It was a confusing scene. Harry and the others insisted the place had been crawling with Death Eaters, but there were none to be found. Eventually the Order members wrangled all of us and got us back to Hogwarts without anyone in the Ministry being the wiser. Harry kept hold of the orb, but I believe he gave it to Dumbledore for safekeeping.”

Lucius hummed as he poured tea for both of them. “And what did the Order think happened?”

“They don’t know. They believed us when we said that there were Death Eaters, but they couldn’t figure out why you all disappeared.” Hermione rolled her eyes and offered him a smirk. “They suspect some sinister plot.”

“Do they suspect you?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. I—” she looked at him sidelong and then looked away, “—I Obliviated Harry and Neville, so they think I was with them the whole time.”

Lucius felt a spike of pride well up in his chest. “Good girl,” he said, patting the space next to him on the sofa. “Come here, I promise you’ll have all the time you want to look at books later.”

Hermione went to him with just one reluctant glance at the bookshelf. She settled next to him, a proper distance away. 

But he was having none of that. 

Instead he pulled her in so that she was practically in his lap. She stiffened for a second before relaxing against him, her head tucking against his shoulder. One of his hands held her hips in place while the other went to pet her, his fingers smoothing down wayward curls.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Hermione whispered against his skin, her words more air than noise.

“Of course. A witch of your talent shouldn’t be wasted. You’ll have all the best tutors here. You’ll learn anything and everything you want.”

“And,” she shifted against him, a small hand going to pluck at his robes, “and this—us?”

Lucius smiled indulgently and kissed the crown of her head.

“This can be whatever you want. I’ve made it no secret, I want you. But you are your own woman and a very powerful witch. You intrigue and bewitch me, and when your magic touches mine, I catch fire. But if you don’t want this, then I’ll be the consummate host.”

“If I do,” she hesitated, smoothing down the robes she had just fussed with, “if I do want it, what would  _ it _ be?”

“Whatever you want. Friend, teacher, lover, research partner, boyfriend,” his nose wrinkled slightly in distaste at the word; he was near 40 after all. He hesitated, wondering how much to say before he scared her off, “then maybe more.”

She drew away from him to look him in the face. “What do you mean by more.”

He hesitated. He had held the reins prior to this. But he knew that if he truly intended to keep her, then he would have to make himself vulnerable, no matter how distasteful he found it. 

“I’ve never found a woman so intriguing before. I think we are exceptionally compatible and I find myself fascinated with you. Perhaps one day, if we decide we’re suited we might marry. I don’t play games, Hermione. I do not trifle with women. My interest is serious and sincere. I know the Dark Lord would look ill on me if I decided to trifle with you or treat whatever is between us with anything other than the utmost respect. He’s taken quite a shine to you.”

Hermione watched him and silence lingered. She seemed to come to some sort of decision because she nodded once, sharp and decisive.

“I think for now friend, research partner, teacher and...and lover will do. I don’t know if I could ever consider you a boyfriend,” her smile twisted on her lips, “you’re not much a boy.”

Lucius laughed and kissed her sweetly once more. “No, no I’m not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my love language
> 
> My ask box is always open on my [tumblr](misselylux.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to whoever prompted this, it ended up being much more than I anticipated, but it was a lot of fun!

**August 1996, Forest on the Malfoy Manor Lands**

“Are you sure you translated all the runes correctly?”

Hermione sighed and rubbed a hand across her forehead and shot Draco an irritated look. “Yes, I am sure. I triple checked them. Besides, who got an O in Ancient Runes and who got an E?”

Draco sighed in irritation. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

She let out a light laugh. “No, no I’m not. But you beat me in Defense, so if you'd like to you can hold that against me for the rest of forever.”

“I just don’t want my father turning into a toad mid ritual,” he grumbled

“Your father would make a very handsome toad.” Hermione replied primly.

Draco faked a retching noise, which made Hermione laugh again. Draco had turned out to be much funnier than she had anticipated. It made the endless hours they spent practicing Dark spells and reading through ancient tomes bound in human skin much more pleasant.

“I’d rather not hear about you and my father’s bedroom proclivities, thank you.”

“I promise, I’ve never fantasized about Lucius as any sort of amphibian. Also, you know what ritual we’re about to conduct. You know that we haven’t had sex.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Ugh Granger, I told you, the less I know the better. You may not have done the deed yet, but I’ve seen the way you look at each other. Plus the house elves can’t keep a secret to save their lives. Greeny let it slip that you spend most nights in his bedroom. They’ve even started calling you Mistress. It’s bad enough I'm helping you set up for the ritual. You can tell my father I’m the world’s best wingman.”

Hermione was sure that she was scarlet with embarrassment. She wasn’t ashamed of the relationship Lucius and she had, but she did wish she wasn’t talking about it with his son.

“Oh shut up,” she muttered, trying to refocus her attention on the various herbs she was weaving into a long braid. The braid of plants would ring the ritual space, and then inside the circle is where she and Lucius would have sex.

This ritual was supposed to not only provide a slight boost of raw magical power, but it was hopefully going to create the ability to better shield both their minds and their auras. Hermione had been so alarmed to find that Snape could see Dark magic on her, that she had scoured both the Malfoy and Lestrange libraries for a way to prevent that in the future.

The one ritual she found had conveniently enough called for pentatrative sex with a virgin.

The most difficult part about the ritual had been keeping herself from riding Lucius like a prize stallion.

Draco was right, they had spent most nights together. And they had brought each other pleasure. But they had both shown admirable self restraint and not had full full sex. Until tonight.

“There,” Draco leaned back and dusted off his hands, “finished. Now all the river rocks have been carved with the appropriate runes. All that’s left to do is wait for the full moon. I hope you won’t take offense if I don’t bear witness to the ritual.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No, no offense taken. No one is going to bear witness. It’s just going to be the two of us.”

“Also, Uncle Severus wanted to remind you that if there is any,” Draco made a face, twisting and unpleasant, “blood, that you should preserve it, as it is a very valuable potions ingredient.”

Hermione sighed, closing the braided herb chain, finally finished with her part of the preparation. “I know. I have the special glass vial he gave me and everything. But he very well knows that my hymen was probably broken long ago riding a bike or something.”

Draco winced. “Can you please refrain from discussing your hymen anymore?”

“Merlin, you are such a child.”

“Alright step-mummy, I’m going to go over to Pansy’s. She said her dad got a prototype of the new Nimbus 2002. I’ll probably get sloshed and spend the night there.”

Draco stood up and began making his way back to the Manor.

“Don’t call me that you prat!” Hermione shouted at his retreating back.

She stood too, arranging the braided herb chain and the river stones Draco had carved in the appropriate places and then stood back to admire her work.

Satisfied with the set up, she left the clearing. “This might be easier if everyone didn’t know I was about to have sex tonight.” she muttered to herself as she turned to make her way back up to the Manor.

* * *

Hermione wasn’t nervous. Really, she wasn’t.

But she could tell Lucius was.

The tense silence that accompanied them as they walked down the large sloping lawns of Malfoy Manor was a physical presence. 

Bright moonlight was just beginning to spill over the tops of the forest, lighting their path. It was warm, the heat of the day had lingered, and they had both left their shoes in the Manor, opting only to wear casual clothes that could be easily removed.

She reached out, grabbing his hand.

“We’ve discussed this,” she said in a low tone, interlacing their fingers and bringing his hand up to her mouth. She pressed a kiss to his knuckles and smiled as sweetly as she could up at him.

He was still scowling. “Your first time should be in a bed.”

“Well, if we could’ve included a bed in the ritual space, I totally would’ve”

“Are you sure about this?” It was the fourth or fifth time he had asked her that. She was appreciative that he was so concerned, but she had made up her mind.

“I’m positive Lucius. I was never the sort of little girl who dreamed about a perfect first time. I always imagined my first time would be unpleasant, brief, awkward, and with someone I would end up being embarrassed by later in life.” As she spoke she ticked off the qualities on her fingers. “But I’m pleased that my first time will be none of those things. You’ve already promised to make me come more than once, a feat I know for a fact you’re capable of. I know you have stamina. I’m very comfortable around you, and I know we have a future. This is the best possible first time I could have asked for.”

They reached the forest clearing and he pulled her to a halt and into his arms. He was so warm, and she leaned against him, her head resting on his chest.

Luckily there was no preparation for the ritual aside from the work she and Draco had already done, so there was nothing to fiddle with that might disrupt the mood. 

“You’re so exquisite, my little bird. Now, I trust that you’ve applied cushioning charms to where we will be.”

Hermione laughed and went on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Yes, and I’ve made sure that the forest floor won’t sully your precious robes.”

He caught her mouth in a brief but heated kiss before pulling away.

“Excellent. Now, are we ready?”

“Yes, Lucius.”

He pulled back slightly, and his hands went to the fastenings of her robes. He stripped off her clothes, baring her skin to the night air. He went slower than she had expected, piece by piece, leaning down to run reverent fingers over ever sliver of bare flesh revealed.

She was down to her knickers and bra before he paused to admire her.

“Beautiful,” He murmured, running his lips down the column of her neck.

She shivered and arched her head to give him better access. Her nipples pebbled to hard points at pressing into the rough lace of her bra; goosebumps raced over her skin.

Alive and on fire, every brush of his skin against hers intensified the feeling. He stripped her remaining clothes.

He leaned down slightly and, to her shock, picked her up. She let out a squeak of surprise as he carried her into the center of the ritual circle, leaving her clothes behind.

The texture of his fine robes against her soft skin was intoxicating. That he was fully clothed and she was entirely bared made her stomach twist in a very pleasant manner.

He set her down on the patch of land she had charmed to be their bed for the evening, and then began disrobing himself. The ground was soft and comfortable and she reclined, arching her back to put herself on display for him. This wasn’t the first time he had seen her naked, but he still couldn’t look away from her.

Her ravenous gaze tracked his movement, down to the most minute twitch of his fingers. He was elegant in his manner, long fingers undoing buttons with practiced ease.

She ran a hand down her front, stopping to toy with her nipple, pinching it until it ached, making her breathe hitch. Letting go she continued her path, smoothing her hand down her abdomen. Her fingers reached her aching center. She knew she was already wet, but she was surprised just how wet she was as she brushed her fingers lightly over her folds.

“No,” Lucius said, eyes locked on her core. “That’s mine. I’ll tell you when to touch, when to come.”

Hermione bit back a groan and reluctantly drew her hand away. 

He was so beautiful, his skin was pale and luminous in the moonlight. He looked like the statues she used to admire in museums, hard muscles concealed by flawless skin. The only mark on him was the Dark Mark, black, twisting and elegant on his forearm.

But she couldn’t focus on anything other than his thick cock. It was already hard, and Hermione was entranced by it. She knew how the soft skin felt under his hands as he pulsed with release. She knew how he tasted, like salt and skin and man. And now she was going to know what it was like to be stretched wide by him.

Lucius knelt on the ground next to her prone form.

“Open your legs little bird.”

She spread her legs, wide enough to give him a clear view of her. He ran one hand down her flank, and she shifted further into the touch.

“Lucius, don’t tease me,” Hermione whispered, reaching for his hand. He smiled at her and let her take it, coming to kneel between her spread legs.

He walked his fingers up her leg, staring at her ankle. He went up her calf, the path of his fingers leaving a longing tingling behind; they brushed behind her knee, which was surprisingly sensitive and made her twitch. He stopped a few inches away from the apex of her thighs, his palm going to cover where she had carved the runes into her skin. He leaned down and kissed the scars with a closed mouth, and then again with an open mouth. He nipped at her and then soothed his tongue over the marks when she yelped. 

“You’re mine now, Hermione,” he whispered against the skin of her inner thigh. He turned his head slightly and began sucking hickeys into the tender flesh there. Hermione’s lungs emptied in a whoosh of arousal.

“I need you—fuck—I need you in me, can’t you see how swollen and aching I am for you?” She whined twisting slightly, unsure if she wanted more or less of the feeling of his mouth so close to her clit, yet so far.

He pulled back, going up to tall knees again. His hand went to his cock, pulling at it with lazy strokes while taking in her nudity. 

“You want my cock in your throbbing cunt, don’t you? Will you beg for it?”

He hadn’t even finished his sentence before pleas fell from her lips, sweet like honey. It felt, she thought in a slightly detached way, like he knew exactly which buttons to push, and she loved him for that.

He smirked down at her and she felt her core clench around nothing. 

She knew, back when he had first encountered her in the library, that he would taste like sin. But she hadn’t known how sweet sin would taste.

His body blocked the moonlight, outlining him in an eerie glow. She bit her lip to stop her babbling as he brought the hand that was not stroking his length to her cunt. He parted her folds, gazing at her most intimate part. She felt a full body blush take her over and she squirmed, uncomfortable at the attention. 

“Stay still and let me look at you. This is mine now. It’s so pretty. I like to admire my pretty things.”

Hermione let out a groan and her head hit the ground with a thump that was not muffled by the cushioning charm. That shouldn’t be hot. She should want to be a strong independent woman. But hearing she was his to treasure and look at made her feel slick between her legs.

Drawing his hand away from his length, he brought one finger to touch her clit gently, just caressing over the bundle of nerves. She licked her lips, watching as he rubbed at her clit, gentle at first and then more insistent. His two fingers circled in the pattern that she loved and had taught him. She could feel her body tightening in anticipation, pleasure pooling in her lower abdomen.

He withdrew his hand and she almost keened at the loss, but he just repositioned himself, using the two fingers that had been on her clit to breach her entrance, and used the thumb of the same hand to begin rubbing her clit again. He leaned down and took a nipple into his mouth, alternating biting and sucking. The pleasure built more quickly this time, and after a few minutes she came around his fingers, pulsing her release as she moaned in appreciation.

Shutting her eyes and trying to catch her breath and recover, she heard his low laugh cut through the silence of the clearing. Her eyes snapped open as he withdrew his fingers. She saw the shine of herself on them. He brought his fingers, wet with her own slick to her mouth pressing them against her lips. Opening her mouth, she took in his long fingers and ran her tongue over the pads of his fingers, tasting herself, feminine and musky, but not unpleasant.

“Good girl,” Lucius said, slightly out of breath himself.

She smiled around his fingers, letting him pull them out with a wet pop. He smiled at her in return, positioning her legs to allow him access to her cunt. He leaned forward and with one hand guided his thick cock into her.

She winced at the stretch, but wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him in closer. It took a few thrusts until he was fully seated inside of her. When he bottomed out his soft “fuck” made her clench around him.

He started to move, slowly at first, but then built to a steady rhythm. The obscene, wet slap of their bodies together sounded much sexier than she could have imagined. She felt pleasantly full, and the initial pinch at his entry had faded. She felt her muscles relax and she began to enjoy herself. It was not earth shaking by any means, but she had done her research, and she knew most women needed clitoral stimulation to orgsm, and that most couldn’t come through penetration alone.

But then Lucius shifted, changing his angle, and she saw stars as the head of his cock hit  _ that _ place inside of her. Her moan was embarrassingly loud. He had found her g-spot before when he was fingering her, but feeling his cock hit it on every thrust sent fire racing through her veins.

She was begging again, words spilling from her lips without any conscious thought; but it was beyond her control to stop her mouth at this point, and Lucius seemed to be enjoying her enthusiasm, a smug smile tucked into the corners of his mouth.

He was gripping her hip hard with one hand, and he brought his other hand to toy with her clit. She could feel her pulse in her cunt and she was so close, and she just needed—

He sped up slightly and she shattered around him. Her orgasm was loud, ending in a broken scream as she spasmed again and again. Her eyes shut tightly and tears leaked out of the corners as her back arched with the pleasure.

After a dozen more strokes he finished inside of her as well. The feeling of his pulsing release inside of her set off an aftershock, and a high whimper came out of her open and panting mouth. He collapsed against her, his head going to her breast, resting just above her heart. She brought up a hand to stroke his silky locks that were damp at the roots from exertion. He leaned his head slightly so he could catch a nipple in his mouth, and he gave it a firm suck. Her cunt pulsed around his softening cock in response. He released her nipple with a laugh and pressed a kiss into her breast.

Sitting up, he withdrew from her. The exit of his cock caused some of their mixed fluids to leak out of her.

“No blood,” Hermione noted, “Professor Snape will be disappointed.”

He frowned down and, bringing his hand to her cunt, pushed the liquid back inside of her. “Keep that inside, you don’t want to waste it.”

Her mouth went dry and her breath hitched. She clamped down to try to obey his order. But it did raise a question.

Hermione propped herself up on her elbows and raised an eyebrow at him, a trick he had taught her over firewhiskey one night the previous week.

“Do you think you’re going to get me pregnant? I’m on the potion.”

He grinned at her, all sharp teeth, the grin of a predator who had caught his prey.

“No, not yet,” he said, leaning down to kiss her lower abdomen, the place that would swell if she was actually bred.

She leaned back down, allowing her body to fall against the cushioning charm.

“I would hope not. The world still thinks I’m 16. That would be rather...inappropriate if you knocked up a 16 year old.”

“But soon,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. She let out an involuntary noise and looked at him. His hand was on her stomach and he was staring, like he was imagining her swell with his child.

“After graduation.” She countered, “and after at least one mastery.”

“You already practically have a mastery in the Dark Arts.” He reached for the pile of his discarded clothes and withdrew his wand, murmuring a spell that cleaned the both of them up. She almost protested, she had wanted to keep the feel of his come inside her for longer, she had wanted to feel it drip down her inner thighs, visible proof that he had taken her, and that she was his.

He offered her a hand and helped her sit, then stand.

They made their way back to Malfoy Manor, both naked in the moonlight.

* * *

**September 1996, Platform 9 ¾, Kings Cross Station**

Hermione tapped her foot impatiently. She had managed to ditch the boys, the Weasleys, and the Order. It had been no small feat. After having been forced to spend too much time in their company the last week of Summer, it was a relief to have at least a moment away.

She had longed to stay at Malfoy Manor, but Lucius, and more importantly, the Dark Lord, had insisted that she put in an appearance to avoid suspicion.

Besides, Lucius had sent her off with the promise of new books, frequent letters, and rendez-vous in Hogsmeade during the school year.

But he was also supposed to meet her now. He had sent a letter though Professor Snape, that told her to meet him before the train left in a secluded corner of the Platform so that he could give her a proper goodbye.

She checked her watch again to be sure she hadn't mistaken the time when she heard the distinctive tap of expensive dragon hide books and a cane on the pavement.

He stepped close to her and she cast a series of the strongest privacy charms she knew around the two of them. Lucius watched and nodded in approval. Then she threw her arms around her neck, jumping enough so that she could wrap her legs around his waist. He dropped his cane and it clattered to the ground as he caught her in his arms.

They kissed and it was ravenous, teeth, tongues and passion. After a minute he broke away with a smile.

“Miss me my little bird?”

“So much.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “I was so empty and aching for you. My fingers weren’t enough” she pouted.

He leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have time right now, but the first Board of Governors meeting is next week. You’ll meet me at our table.”

Hermione sighed with disappointment, but nodded.

“Fine, Lucius. And the first Hogsmeade weekend is at the end of September”

She unwound her legs from around his waist and dropped back down to the ground, but he didn’t let her go completely and she reveled in his grip.

They stood like that for a minute in silence.

He cupped a hand under her chin, making her look him in the eyes.

“And you remember your assignment?”

“Of course,” Hermione scoffed. “Being in your presence may make me dizzy with lust, but it does not make me stupid.”

Lucius smirked at her and leaned down to kiss her again.

“Remember little bird, regular reports.”

Hermione nodded, determined. “I know. I’ve already made my first report. It should be easy. They never take me seriously. They often forgot I was there.”

“Their loss then,” he smoothed his thumb over her cheekbone, admiration clear in his gaze. “You’re the most precious thing that’s ever been mine.”

She nuzzled into his touch.

The whistle on the train blew the five minute warning and she pulled back reluctantly.

Lucius leaned down and gave her a searing kiss before letter her go, and reaching down to grab his cane from where it had dropped.

“Have a fun year Hermione,” he said, “I’ll see you soon.”

She had a lump in her throat, so she just nodded and reached out to squeeze his hand one last time.

Swallowing hard she turned and walked away from him. She waited to dispel the privacy charms until she was a few feet away, so not to raise suspicion. 

By the time she had gotten to the Prefect compartment her eyes were dry and she was in control of herself again. It wasn’t empty when she got there. Draco inclined his head at her subtly and she twitched her lips into a small smile in return.

Thinking of all the rituals she had planned for this year and all of the information she could glean, her small smile transformed into a rather feral grin. Yes, this would certainly be a different sort of Sixth Year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely adore reading all your comments.
> 
> I hope you and yours are staying safe and healthy!
> 
> My ask box on [tumblr](misselylux.tumblr.com) is open for questions/comments/prompts!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are my love language!


End file.
